


What's in a Name?

by Reesachan (Clymenestra)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, And yet, Bechdel Test Pass, Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, F/M, Meet-Cute, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Shenanigans, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Where did all this plot come from?, far more historical fiction and back story than one might expect from a meet cute, marvelbingo2019, seriously, this was not intended to be a long story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-07-17 17:06:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16100015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clymenestra/pseuds/Reesachan
Summary: Soul marks are meant to be a clear cut way to find the person you're destined to be with for the rest of your life. Assuming your soulmate had the forethought to say something uniquely identifying, of course. Good luck to the poor buggers whose marks say "Welcome to McDonald's. Can I take your order?"Fortunately, Steve and Darcy have marks that clearly name the speaker. No chance of confusion there.Unless, for some odd reason, the names happen to be wrong...





	1. Saoirse

Saoirse bit back a wince as her son burst into yet another fit of coughing. His breath was weak and she found herself wishing the coughs were stronger, louder, more powerful. Hours earlier she’d resented how the coughs shook his body and rattled his whole frame but now she found herself fiercely wishing they could roll back the clock so she wouldn’t have to fret over whether he even had the energy to draw in air anymore.

She moved the pot of soup off of the stove and onto a trivet on the table, leaving the hob free so she could set a kettle of water to boil. Maybe a steam treatment would help his breathing. Sometimes the humidity would open the airways and give his poor body a short reprieve.

This was going to be a long night. Neither of them was going to get much sleep, and she had another twelve hour shift at the hospital tomorrow. 

Saoirse hoped Winnie would be able to come sit with Stevie or send one of her passel of kids to keep an eye on him during the day. Or maybe one of the neighbors could look in on him once in a while? Saoirse winced, thinking of their dwindling stock of coins. She barely had the money for Stevie’s medicine, she certainly wouldn’t be able to pay anyone to watch over him.

A quick inventory of her barter options confirmed that they hadn’t changed since the last time she’d run through her options. Funds were too scarce for fancy cooking. Neither beans nor cabbage soup would give her any sort of a bargaining chip. She could take in sewing in exchange, but as it was, she’d already be working her fingers off for weeks to come in the few hours she had to spare from the hospital just to pay off the doctor’s bill.

She hated relying on charity and she didn’t like being beholden to anyone, but Winnifred Barnes was her best bet.

Stevie coughed again and Saoirse went to check on the soup. It was still a bit too hot to eat, but it would cool faster if she dished some out. She spooned out a bit of the thin broth into a bowl and brought it into the bedroom to set it on the dresser. 

She settled on the bed next to her son and put the back of her hand to his forehead. No change there. He was still burning up. “How are you feeling, a thaisce?” 

Fever bright blue eyes met her own and he attempted to put on a brave face as he rasped out, “It’s not so bad, Ma. I’ve had worse. I’ll be back to healthy in no time.” 

Saoirse’s smile was more of a grimace than anything, but neither of them mentioned it. She rose and went to refresh the cool water in the pitcher by the bed so she could wet him down again and try to lower his temperature. “I’ll get some more water and then we’ll try you on some soup. It’ll do ye some good to get something in your stomach.”

Steve whined a bit at the thought. “I’m not hungry, Ma!”

Saoirse leveled him with a stern look. “I’ll thank you to try all the same."

Steve wilted under that look, and when she came back and handed him the bowl, he dutifully took in a couple of spoonfuls between coughs and wheezes. He didn’t even say a word about eating nothing but cabbage soup for three days in a row.

“That’s a good boy. I know it’s hard, but your body can’t fight the fever nor fuel to feed the fire.”

Steve made a face but ate a few more bites before pushing the bowl away. “No more, Ma.”

Saoirse sighed and took the bowl back to the kitchen before returning with the kettle of hot water. She pulled the covers off of her son. “Alright, a leanbh, off with that shirt. It’s time to freshen you up and get you some clean bedding.”

Between the two of them, they got off the shirt he’d been swathed in and Saoirse got him settled on the chair she’d been occupying next to the bed. She poured the hot water into a basin and draped a towel over his head to force the steam into his face. While he sat there breathing in the hot, moist air, she swapped out the bedding for clean sheets and a fresh blanket.

Eventually, she got him settled back on the bed sans blanket. She poured some of the cool water into a basin and dipped cloths in to wet them down. She relaxed a little as she saw the relieved sigh he gave when she started wiping at his sweat dampened skin.

She kissed his forehead and replaced her lips with a cool cloth before continuing her ministrations by wiping down his arms. She paused as she reached his chest, taking a moment to examine the gray curlicues that were starting to take form. It wouldn’t be much longer before they became legible - they resembled words more and more each day.

She examined the markings with mingled apprehension and delight.

Delight because it meant that there was someone out there for her Stevie, and because it was widely held that the marks were signifiers of future events and you couldn’t die without first having bumped into your soulmate at least once. A mark suggested that Stevie would survive this illness and the next, no matter how grim, and would continue to live until that mark had been fulfilled.

And the marks meant that her little boy was reaching the age of reason. He would be seen as his own person in the eyes of the Church and the eyes of God, held morally responsible for his own choices and misdeeds. He was growing up before her eyes. 

Apprehension because -

Well.

What if he’d already met his soulmate?

There would be no guarantees. Nothing to drag him into the future aside from his frail body and her indomitable will.

And the potential consequences that death could have for his immortal soul if he ever did succumb to the myriads of health concerns that plagued him? The older he got, the more she’d worry.

Worse, what if his mark was like Saoirse’s?

She brushed the marks with gentle fingers and followed them with a swipe of cool water. “You’re growing up, a stór. Your words will be coming in any day now.”

Despite his exhaustion, the little boy’s eyes lit up. He tried to sit up before another bout of coughing hit and left him slumped against the pillows while his Ma continued to try and bring his fever down. Once he’d caught his breath again, he tried again, attempting to examine the swirls that didn’t form any meaningful shapes. He glanced shyly at his mother. He wondered what her mark said.

“Tell me about you and Da? How did you meet?”

Saoirse sat back with a sigh, a far away look on her face as her hand brushed a spot where her dress concealed writing that indelibly marred the skin beneath. “I suppose you’re old enough to hear the full story, lad. Mind you don’t bandy it about, though. Not everyone would take too kindly to it.”

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded in solemn agreement.

“Yer Da and I met at church, and he took a shine to me. I’ve no idea if he was my chuid mo chroí. Perhaps he was. Certainly we loved each other enough-”

Steve interrupted, confused. “But why didn’t you know? Didn’t your marks tell you if you were soulmates?”

Saoirse shook her head a little sadly. “Sometimes marks help you find each other, but not everyone’s marks are as clear cut as all that. Mine says ‘It’s nice to meet you, Miss.’ It could’ve been yer Da as said that, but it might’ve been any of dozens of others. No way to tell. And his wasn’t any clearer. Some marks are just like that.”

Steve frowned thoughtfully. “But how are you supposed to know if your marks don’t match up?”

Saoirse shrugged helplessly. “Some think that them as can’t find their soulmates have no right to sweethearts at all. Certainly the law’s on their side. Ye can’t get bonded without matched marks. But love isn’t about words. The words might help, but love can find you, words or no.”

Steve pushed himself up a bit but had to give in to a coughing fit before asking his mother the next question on his mind. “But Ma, I thought you and Da were bonded.”

Saoirse smiled and stroked the damp hair from his forehead. “Yer Da and I were very much in love, a thaisce. He courted me for well on a year, no matter what the ladies at church had to say on the scandal of courting someone who wasn’t your a chuid do chroí. He promised to take care of me in any way he could, but my Da wouldn’t have me seeing him, and the priest would never have allowed us to bond in the eyes of God, so we ran away together.” 

“You ran away?”

“Indeed. Yer Da said to me, ‘Saoirse, there’s nothing for us here-”

Steve interrupted, sounding out the unfamiliar name. “Seersha? Why did he call you that?”

“It’s the name I was born to, mo chroí. Not everyone’s fond of the Irish here, so I go by Sarah nowadays, a good English name, but your Da only ever called me Saoirse when it was the two of us. So when he asked me to run off with him, he told me, ‘Saoirse, everyone knows us here. We’ll never be able to make a life together if we stay. Let’s go make a life for ourselves in a place where we can be anyone and do anything.’

“We took a ship to the New World. The Land of Enchantment. Everyone in our village in Ireland knew who we were, but in America the possibilities were endless. Here, we were Sarah and Joseph Rogers. A respectable couple, moving to a new land for the opportunities. We passed ourselves off as husband and wife, and who was to say we were living in sin when we had the ring and the babe to prove it?”

“The babe? That was me!” The little boy's eyes shone with excitement at his inclusion in this story, and his Ma smiled back indulgently.

“Indeed it was. It was a miserable trip to take with a swollen belly and all, but it was worth it to arrive in that harbor and see the Lady and her torch lighting the way to a new life. 'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.' And we were all of that, but this new world gave us the chance to live the life we’d always dreamed of. Not that it’s as wondrous as all that in truth, but that’s a story for another time.”

Stevie nodded, a pensive expression on his face. Saoirse suspected he had a great number of questions still swirling around in his brain, but he was wilting and she thought it high time to get him settled again. “Come, a leanbh, it’s time for bed. Let’s get you into a new shirt.”

She gently maneuvered his head and arms into a new shirt and tucked him back into bed with a kiss. “Sweet dreams, a thaisce mo chroí.” She dimmed the lamp a little but left it bright enough to allow her to see as she pulled out the sewing basket. She’d need to work on this for a few more hours before she could catch a few winks, but she might as well work on it in here so she could continue to monitor her son’s condition through the night. She wondered if she might be able to convince Winnie to launder the bedding as well. It’d be a day or more before Saoirse would be able to get to it, and she’d hate to let it moulder.

With half formed plans dancing in her head, Saoirse settled in for a long night. Always too much to do and too little time or money. Wasn’t that the way of life? But she would bear up under the pressure and they would get through this trial and the next. They’d have to. She wouldn’t let them go under, not as long as she had breath to give.

Steve’s eyes drifted shut to the familiar lilting sound of his mother’s voice as she sang to herself and sewed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to pandythedandy for corrections on my translations!


	2. Darcy and Jane

“Oh my Thor. Mom. I’m fine. Jane’s fine. Eric’s fine. We’re all fine. Everyone is fine. We weren’t even near the-” Darcy paused to whisper loudly to Jane. “Janey, what’s the cover story again? I can never remember-” 

 

Muffled noises could be heard from the telephone as Darcy’s Mom pitched a fit on the other end. She was clearly not in the least bit mollified. 

 

Jane huffed dramatically and threw up her arms. “How should I know? Maybe it was drugs in the water? I don’t even care. I can’t find my readings from the event. What did you do with them? I need data, Darcy. Hard data. This is big. I’m never going to get numbers like this again. This could be revolutionary!”

 

Darcy hitched a thumb over in the direction of the living room. “Under the box of cookies and cream Pop Tarts. Eat one before you dive into research. Bodies need fuel, Jane. Brains are organic matter. They rely on food. Don’t make your brain beg for change on the street corners. It’s not made for panhandling. It’s better suited to science.”

 

Jane wandered off in the direction Darcy had pointed. Darcy listened carefully for sounds of foil crinkling as a Pop Tart was unwrapped before returning to her conversation with her Mom. She went back to talking into the speaker of the phone, where the other voice had shown no signs of slowing down during the course of her side conversation with Jane. 

 

“-we were nowhere near whatever it was they’re calling it. A terrorist attack? Mass hallucination? Oh! I bet it was a gas main explosion. It’s always a gas main explosion, isn’t it? You’d think they’d come up with something more creative than that. I mean, do gas mains even explode in real life or is it always a cover for something far more interesting that no one’s allowed to talk about?”

 

The voice kept fussing. Darcy’s chatter didn’t seem to be helping matters. 

 

“Chill, Mom. I swear. Nothing happened. Well… I did kiss the intern. That was maybe a bad call. Definitely shouldn’t have done that, but I was just kind of in the moment there and got swept away a bit. Anyhow, we cleared that up and it’s not like he’s going to sue for sexual harassment or anything. He knows we don’t have any money. I mean, it did kind of sound like he thought we were going to be some sort of starstruck lovers or some shit like that, but really? Calm your tits, dude. It was just a kiss. Not even a good kiss. A good solid B- at best. And that’s being generous and allowing for the adrenaline rush and everything. Any other circumstances and I’d have to downgrade it to a C.”

 

She rolled her eyes at the words emanating from the phone. 

 

“No, seriously. There’s nothing to worry about. Jane’s back safe and sound and clean up is underway for the… what did they call it again? Earthquake? Tsunami? No, couldn’t be a tsunami. Who ever heard of a tsunami in the UK? Why don’t we just pretend it was a Death Eater attack and call it a day. Right. Nothing to see here, move along, the Death Eaters have been dealt with and life can resume as regularly scheduled.”

 

She sighed heavily.

 

“No, I’m not making too light of it. I swear, we’re all good. No injuries, only minor trauma, but we’ll be fine.”

 

Jane called her name excitedly from the other room, a high pitched tone to her voice that had Darcy’s ears perking up. Something was going on. Something big. 

 

“Okay, Mom, I’ve got to go. Janey needs me. No, I’m not just inventing excuses to avoid you. I’ll call you back. Promise. Are you going to be up for a bit longer? Okay, I’ll call you in half an hour or so. Maybe an hour. I don’t know what she wants me for yet. Promise. No more than an hour, tops. Got to go. Love you too!”

 

She hung up with a dramatic flair. As dramatic as you can get when hanging up on a smart phone, at any rate. It’s just not as melodramatic to jab a button as it used to be to slam down a receiver. Even flipping closed a flip phone had the potential to exhibit more emotional flair than ending a call on a smart phone might. One of the few things that the advancement of technology had utterly failed at, in Darcy’s opinion. How were you meant to emote properly when ending a phone call if there was nothing to slam? 

 

She waltzed into the living room, expecting Jane to be exclaiming over something in her charts and graphs. She hoped Jane would take the time to dumb it down to Darcy’s level. Darcy was by no means a slouch, and she’d picked up quite a bit about astrophysics over her time with Jane, but she was better with the practical hands on stuff than the theory. Jane was generally pretty good about gauging Darcy’s level of understanding these days and breaking concepts down for her, but she still had a tendency to go all uber-geek when she got over excited about something. And from the tone of her voice, she was plenty excited.

 

“What’s up?” Darcy flopped on the couch and propped her feet on the coffee table laconically, barely avoiding the towering stack of papers.

 

Jane gestured to her phone, and Darcy’s eyes narrowed. That was not a graph. 

 

“You won’t believe who just called me.”

 

Darcy tilted her head, trying to think of people who might get Jane that riled up. Probably a scientist? And a famous one? Darcy didn’t exactly know a lot of famous scientists, particularly astrophysicists. “Neil deGrasse Tyson?”

 

Jane paused, looking a tad dreamy. “Don’t I wish. Nope, not Neil deGrasse Tyson. Try again.”

 

Darcy scrunched her nose. “Um… I don’t know. Bill Nye? Miss Frizzle? The Hulk?”

 

Jane scoffed. “Seriously, Darcy, are those all the scientists you know?”

 

Darcy dredged her mind, trying to come up with another one. “Does Tony Stark count? I guess he did something a while back with some sort of element or something, right? And all that clean energy stuff…”

 

Jane shook her head in despair. “No wonder you needed those credits. But you were close with that last guess. Pepper Potts called me,” she squealed, “Me! On my cell phone. I have her phone number. I have Pepper Potts’s phone number on my phone. Can you believe it?”

 

Darcy sat back abruptly. “For real?”

 

Jane grinned.

 

Darcy sat forward a bit. “What did she want? Did it have anything to do with the Death Eater attack?”

 

Jane stared at her in blank incomprehension. “The what?”

 

“You know-” Darcy waved her hand vaguely, “-the whole space aliens thing. I couldn’t remember the official cover story, so we’re going with Death Eaters. Way easier to remember.”

 

“Really, Darcy, it’s like you’re not even trying here.”

 

Darcy shrugged. “Eh, what are they going to do at this point? It’s not like it isn’t all over YouTube. And we’ve had aliens before. No point to covering it up now, is there?”

 

Jane nodded. “I guess you’ve got a point. But it’s SHIELD. I don’t want them disappearing you for getting under their skin. I guess that won’t be a problem for much longer, though, so no point in worrying about it now. Better to focus on the bigger picture.”

 

Darcy stared at Jane in befuddlement. “Bigger picture? What bigger picture?”

 

Jane’s smile widened. “Pepper Potts wants to give us funding.”

 

Darcy stared.

 

Jane looked absolutely manic. “Pepper Potts wants to give us money to do exactly what we’ve been doing, and we’re going to maintain all publishing rights to my research. And - get this - we’re moving to New York.”

 

Darcy was doing her best imitation of a fish. Jane gave her a worried look as the silence stretched out. “...are you okay?”

 

Darcy’s head flopped forward into a dramatic facepalm. “My Mom is going to murder me in my sleep.”


	3. Liz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling a bit grumpy, so I'm posting this chapter early as a special treat for all of us. Leave me a note to brighten my day a bit?

Elizabeth Anne Lewis had clear expectations of what her life would look like:

  * Good schools
  * Good grades
  * Good prospects



She was career oriented. She had Dreams and Ambition, and a white picket fence featured nowhere in this package.

She’d worked her butt off through high school in order to get herself into a quality college, and she’d managed to nab a large enough scholarship for MIT that with her parents’ support, she ought to be able to make it through without debt. You couldn’t get much better than that. She was going places, and she fully intended to make the most of the opportunities she’d been given.

Sure, at some point she’d run into her soulmate and her future at that point turned into something more nebulous and unformed than she might like, but she had no intention of ever settling - either down or for second best. She would never stop pushing for more or better. She wasn’t destined to be someone’s housewife or mother. She had no desire to nurture or care for others. She chafed at even the idea of being tied down by anyone or anything.

She’d certainly never intended to get derailed like this.

She’d been a loner for much of her school career, too focused on her grades to get involved in the social aspects of college. She didn’t drink or go to parties. She didn’t date. She had a very small pool of friends, and she was good with that. This was her shot to make it to the big leagues. Friendships could happen later, once she’d made a name for herself.

The charming flirt who shared her Ochem class was sweeter than he pretended, but ultimately it was a bad idea all around. She wasn’t looking, and even if she had been, there was no avoiding this guy’s reputation. He’d been around the block so often they’d renamed the streets after him.

So she shot him down with a laugh and moved on.

He’d taken it as a challenge, flirting ever more outrageously, but they’d made it through the semester without him making any progress. If anything, his attempts to push past the boundaries she’d established made her firmer in her resolve not to get involved with him. A man who ignored limits outside of the bedroom certainly couldn’t be expected to respect them within it. Thanks but no thanks.

After a while, though, she started to realize that his outrageous flirting was an overture of friendship rather than an attempt to weasel his way into her pants. His default mode was to flirt, but when it came to his friends it tended to escalate ridiculously. Pet names like “platypus” and “honeybear” and “sweetcheeks” and “light of my life” abounded. She got the fleeting impression that he hadn’t received much platonic affection in his life growing up and that flirtation was the only way he knew how to connect with people. He was touch starved and craved affection, so he sought out both in the only way he knew how. Once she started to pick up on that fact, it allowed her to relax into the interactions in a way she might not have otherwise.

Sometimes she got the feeling that part of why he stuck around was her refusal to compromise on her boundaries. They didn’t exactly hang out a lot aside from occasional study sessions, but she saw how people pushed themselves into his space and fed off of his attention, only to disappear after they’d gotten what they wanted out of him. It was an ongoing cycle. She couldn’t help but feel for him. It couldn’t be easy to make connections with people when everyone was out to take advantage of you in one sense or another.

The semester ended, they moved on. Sometimes she felt vaguely guilty over losing touch with him. She worried that he might equate her with those leeches that always surrounded him, but Liz was focused and goal oriented and she recognized how easy it would be to become absorbed into his gravitational pull. She had plans and she refused to compromise them.

She saw him a couple times across the quad, but they never interacted once the forced closeness of the classroom was no longer a factor.

They only ever shared space once more before splitting off entirely and going their own ways.

Unfortunately, once was more than enough.

She didn’t even know how she’d ended up at the party. Her roommate this year was incredibly outgoing and vivacious, and sometimes Liz found it easier just to go along with her whims than to listen to her chatter away for hours. She was convinced that Liz needed someone to draw her out of her shell, and she was bound and determined to be the one to help her meet people. It was beyond exhausting, but she meant well and Liz didn’t have the heart to shut her down.

Sometimes, that meant being dragged to social occasions. Parties weren’t really her thing, but they seemed to be the heart of a college campus, and her roommate was a social butterfly. That meant that Liz found herself dolled up and being taken out to more than one party that semester, whatever her personal inclinations might be.

It used to be that most of her dislike of parties was theoretical. She had a vague image of public lewdity and intoxication that was entirely unappealing to her. That semester cemented in her mind a much more concrete dislike of forced social interaction, noise, crowds, and wandering hands.

Nevertheless, she sucked it up and made an appearance. Besides, there was nothing forcing her to stay. She’d learned that as long as she showed up for fifteen minutes or so, she could always slip away for a walk around campus or return to her dorm room with no one the wiser. All that really mattered to her roommate was that she’d shown up at all.

Her obligatory fifteen minutes ran out and Liz turned towards the door. She’d done her duty. This was her shot for freedom.

“Liz?” an incredulous voice made her pause.

“Hey, Tony,” she turned with far less surprise to find him in this sort of venue than he seemed to be experiencing in response to her presence.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t think this was your kind of scene.”

She smiled wryly, “”It really isn’t. My roommate is hell bent on getting me out to mingle, so I’ve been indulging her and showing my face for a few minutes before slipping out and going somewhere quieter.”

Tony laughed and ditched the girl on his arm to accompany her out the door and stand near the entrance, looking out into the night. He looked the same, but there was something in his eyes that gave her pause. A quiet desperation maybe? He flirted the way he always did, and there was nothing overtly different, but she couldn’t help but feel like something was off about him.

Those alarm bells grew louder as they got into a quieter space and his flirting died down instead of ramping up. Something was very wrong.

“Hey, you want to get out of here?”

He looked over at her, startled, but conceded. “Sure. Want to get a bite to eat?”

They ended up at an all night diner. She’d never shared a space with him in silence before, but they barely talked. He pulled out the charm for the waitress when she came by, but otherwise they barely exchanged a word.

Somehow, that was what did it. She couldn’t leave him alone in that kind of mindset, so they ended up tumbling down onto the couch at his place together in a pile of limbs.

It started out platonic, but he wasn’t good at platonic touch and while she hadn’t intended to sleep with him going in, she recognized in retrospect that she knew what was coming. When he reached out to her, she reached back. If the surprise in his eyes when she reciprocated was anything to go by, he hadn’t expected anything to come of her advances, but she didn’t begrudge him a little comfort, and he’d always been one to take comfort in the physical. It was certainly healthier than drowning the pain in drugs and alcohol, and she wasn’t unaware of his proclivities towards both.

Not that it was her job to save him from himself. She was too selfish for that, or maybe not selfless enough? Or maybe she just understood that you couldn’t save people from themselves if they didn’t want saving or recognize the need for a hand up. At best you’d get pulled in after them and then you’d both drown.

She wasn’t out for that. She’d give him this night, but she wouldn’t be subsumed by him. One night’s comfort, and that was all.

They’d parted amicably, and that should have been that.

It wasn’t.

“...shit.”

All those plans of hers had failed to account for this little twist. Her brother Darren would never let her hear the end of this.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not doing this story in a linear progression, as you can probably tell. I'm kind of having fun with giving the different pov characters distinctly different storytelling styles. Is it working for you guys? 
> 
> This chapter also finishes up my buffer before I start posting as I write. It's looking like there will likely be 4 more chapters and an epilogue coming up. Would you guys rather see Steve meet Peggy next, see the girls move into Stark Tower, or meet itty bitty Darcy?


	4. Itty Bitty Darcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was surprisingly difficult to write. I think this is my fourth or fifth attempt? I'm still not quite happy with it, but I'm going to call it good enough. I hope you guys enjoy!

“MOMMA!” Darcy’s shout rang out sharp and high and clear and just about gave her Mom a heart attack.

Darcy had just reached an age where she was “way too old for you to give me a bath, Mom, I don’t need your help. I can do it myself,” and Liz was trying to give her the chance to exert her independence. As long as the dirt scrubbed off and the hair came out wet and smelling like it had been doused with an entire bottle of shampoo (Darcy was very enthusiastic about Razzleberry Delight), she was willing to give her the chance to spread her wings a bit.

That didn’t mean that she didn’t hover nearby just in case Darcy needed a bit of extra assistance or slipped and fell, of course. Darcy was a little bundle of energy and was constantly covered in scrapes and bruises because her spatial awareness never got the opportunity to catch up with her bursts of speed for long. Given that the bathroom was full of tiles and hard edges, Liz felt rather justified in her concerns. A fall might well result in a head hitting the spigot of the tub or the corner of a counter, and that was guaranteed to make for a bloody end result.

So when Darcy started shouting for her at the top of her lungs, Liz dropped the laundry she’d been folding in an instant and rushed to find out what had Darcy in such a dither.

She slowed a little as she moved towards the bathroom however, recognizing after a moment that this scream wasn’t a cry of pain or distress. One learned to distinguish between the different flavors of shrieks when sharing space with a child like Darcy, who had the lung capacity of a horse and wasn’t shy to make herself heard. This was more a sound of surprise and excitement, although what there was to be surprised about when she ought to be in the bathtub, scrubbing off the evidence of the sneak campaign Captain America and her elite force of Howling Command-dolls had waged against the battle weary dog next door…

She shook her head ruefully. That poor animal. She’d have to pop over with some cookies again and apologize for the mess they’d made. Dog, daughter, and dolls had all come out coated in mud and muck with little to distinguish between them aside from Darcy’s triumphant grin as she declared her victory over Ruff Skull.

Barely two steps down the hallway, a blur of dripping wet naked child barreled into her, babbling at top speed. “Momma, Momma, LOOK! It’s words! It’s real words with real letters and you can see them and everything! What do they say, Momma? Can you read them? I can’t see them, and they’re all backwards in the mirror. What do they say?”

Liz caught the slippery bundle with the ease of long practice. “Darcy Maria Lewis, what do you think you’re doing? You’re meant to be in the bathtub, scrubbing off all this muck. Just look at this hallway! You’re getting dirt and grime everywhere!”

Darcy straightened with a scowl, “But Momma, my WORDS!”

Liz broke out of her well-practiced rant and gave her daughter a startled glance before focusing in on the words in question. She’d known her daughter was around the age when marks started to clear up, but somehow she hadn’t quite been prepared to see the evidence staring her straight in the face like that. 

The black swirls over Darcy’s heart had shifted subtly, leaving shapes that were starting to distinctly resemble actual letters. They weren’t quite settled yet; they’d certainly clear up more over time and become more distinctly recognizable as her daughter grew into them, but they were legible enough to work out what they said. They were clear enough that it only took a bit of squinting to make out.

She crouched down, preparing to read the words out loud to her daughter as she ran through the message. And paused to go back over it, more slowly this time around. On the third pass, her legs gave out underneath her and she landed on her rump with an audible thump. This certainly complicated matters.

She frantically tried to reason through the potential fall out this news could engender as her daughter stared at her in consternation. It wasn’t like all soulmarks were romantic ones. It could be totally platonic. It wasn’t unheard of, just incredibly rare. But given his reputation… No one would believe that of him. If anyone got wind of the fact that he had a soulmate, people would jump to conclusions. If the news media heard of this…No, they wouldn’t. They couldn’t. 

They’d have to keep it covered at all times, of course. And make sure Darcy understood just how important it was to keep this secret. 

“...fuck.”

Darcy’s eyes grew wide. “You said a bad word, Momma.”

Liz drew her daughter in for a big hug. “I know I did, baby. I know I did.”

“Is my soulmark a bad word?” There were mingling tones of awe and delight as her daughter processed the delightful prospect of having a naughty word inscribed on her body. “Did my soulmate say a bad word to me?” 

Liz winced. She hadn’t actually registered the filthy language while focusing in on the message itself, but... “Yes, your soulmate used some bad language.” She paused, trying to figure out what to tell her daughter. She’d never intended to have this conversation with her, but in light of the words scrawled across her chest it was starting to look like it might be vitally important information to impart on her. It was just hard to look at her little girl’s wide eyes and prepare to dash so many of her hopes and dreams. “Darcy, sweetheart…” 

The delight faded away into mingling curiosity and concern as her daughter tilted her head a little and examined her mother’s face. “Did my soulmate do something bad, Momma?”

Liz took a deep breath. “No, honey, he didn’t do anything bad. It’s just…” Where did one even start? “Come on, baby, let’s get you cleaned up and dressed. This is going to be a very grown up conversation, and it’ll be easier to have over some cookies and hot chocolate.” 

Critical eyes scrutinized her face and devolved into a calculating look. “With marshmallows AND whipped cream?”

Liz laughed. “I suppose, just this once. It’s only once in a lifetime that your soulmark comes in, after all.”

They headed back into the bathroom together as Liz pondered what to tell her daughter. She’d kept the details of Darcy’s conception vague up until this point. Even her family didn’t know who the father was, only that he’d been a classmate of hers. There’d been no reason to bring his identity into the picture up until now. Ah well. That secret was out the window now. Time to come clean.


	5. Peggy

Peggy Carter was.

Well.

Steve had spent decades trying to imagine what she’d be like. He’d tried to picture her in every woman he saw in person or on the big screen. Held imaginary conversations with her throughout the day as he went along.

 _What a jerk,_ he’d hear her huff as he got in the face of a man twice his size who’d been bothering the ladies in front of them in line. And while confronting a big brute of a guy about hassling Rebecca Barnes over her Magen David, he could hear her voice giving him a piece of her mind.

Any soulmate of his would have a sense of righteous honor, of course. He wasn’t exactly the type to make a simpering housewife happy, and he couldn’t see himself getting along with someone who was satisfied with the status quo. She’d have high spirits and a drive to make the world a better place. Perhaps they’d meet at one of his rallies or a union strike? They’d march side by side for justice and fight to make themselves heard.

She’d have curves. And a husky voice, perhaps. A smear of bright red where the lips went, although he couldn’t quite decide whether they’d be thin with a tiny quirk hinting at a secret smile or kissably soft and luscious.

Or maybe not. Maybe she’d be a plain Jane and he’d love her despite her flaws. No, strike that. He'd love every part of her and what others might see as flaws would strike him as pure perfection, because she'd be his and she'd be perfect no matter what she looked like. She might not be a Rita Hayworth, but they’d be happy all the same. He’d be the first to admit that he was no Cary Grant, but he hoped she’d see past the surface level and down to the fire within.

He hoped she’d see him as he was, too, and love him just the way he was. He couldn't bear it if she looked at him the way the dames Bucky brought by for him to take out on doubles always did - like he would never live up to their standards no matter how he tried. Like he wasn't man enough for them. Like his size disqualified him for romance and partnership.

He’d never imagined the accent, though.

Or that marvelous punch to the nose. The way she'd decked Hodgins for those remarks he'd made - a thing of beauty. She'd just laid him out with a single blow. She was everything he'd ever wanted in a dame. 

She was absolutely stunning to behold. Perfect in every way imaginable. A spitfire. A thing of beauty and power and sheer and utter confidence. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve a lady like that in his life, but by God he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

She wasn’t his, of course - he’d never chain her down like that, bind her with claims of ownership - but he hoped they could be partners yoked together in harmonious union…

...and he was waxing lyrical. It was a good thing Bucky couldn’t hear his thoughts. He’d mock Steve mercilessly, and he’d be hearing of it for years to come. He’d make a toast of it at the wedding and every anniversary after.

Steve grinned ruefully. Talk of hitching the cart before the horse. Speaking of marriage when he’d yet to even introduce himself to the lady…

...introductions. He knew her name, of course. He’d known it since the day his words came in. He knew every word she’d say and could recite them by heart. The words he’d tell her, however…

He’d have to make them perfect. What could he say to her? They had yet to meet, it would be inappropriate to make them a declaration of love and devotion, no matter how tempting a prospect. All he wanted to do was sing her praises. He wanted to tell her how perfect she was. How he admired her spirit and strength and wanted nothing more than to bask in her presence. 

But no. No matter how enamored he was of her, they were still strangers. He'd have to be cognizant of her boundaries, and that would be coming on far too strong. He didn't want to push her away before they'd even begun.

Besides, she was his superior officer. Not only that, she was a lady making her way in a man's world. It wouldn't be fair to her to put her in a position that would undermine her or cause others to give either of them the side eye. He wouldn’t pressure her or make her look foolish in front of her men. It would need to be professional. He couldn’t detract from her air of authority.

But he’d need to make his words memorable to ensure that she recognized him from the start. He’d have to include his name. And something friendly, perhaps? To know he’d welcome her suit when the occasion allowed for it?

It would have to wait, of course. This was a military training camp. This was neither the time nor the place to indulge in a romantic affair.

And she was in charge of his training. That brought along a whole host of other complications. Should he wait on her to express an interest so she’d know that he intended to respect her boundaries? Would it be better for him to reach out first so that he didn’t put her in the awkward position of potentially pressuring someone under her command?

That seemed a lot to try and communicate through a handful of words. He’d have to craft this message with care. But he’d have to do so quickly - he didn’t want her to think he was rejecting him just because he failed to acknowledge the bond between them.

Shit. How did people even do this? He was overthinking this, but he couldn’t stop trying to figure out what he ought to say. At this rate he’d never talk to her at all.

Perhaps he should just approach her and introduce himself?

_Good afternoon, ma’am, I’m Steven Grant Rogers._

Except she already knew that, didn’t she? She was his superior officer after all. She must know everyone’s names already.

Except didn’t that mean she already knew who he was to her? Unless he flubbed and didn’t introduce himself by name after all. It would be just like him to get flustered by a beautiful dame and stumble over his words.

But these words were important. He had to get them exactly right. She’d been branded with them for most of her life; he needed to make sure they were good ones. It would be a crying shame if she’d been left with something generic the way his ma was. His ma would rise from her grave and skin him alive for afflicting the poor girl so.

He took a deep breath and prepared himself. He could do this.

A quick glance around the dining hall determined that she was sitting by herself. Good. A public space, low pressure, out and about where she was presumably open to being approached, lots of chaperones, but no one sitting too close and likely to eavesdrop. This could work.

Another breath. This would work.

She was his soulmate. Surely she wouldn’t reject him?

Sure, he probably wasn’t what she’d hoped for or expected. A dame like her could have anyone she wanted, soulmark or not, and he was a skinny little twig of a man surrounded by the peak of American military potential.

But they shared a soulmark.

Like it or not, it all came down to that. They shared a soulmark. This would work out.

He steeled himself and approached.

“How do you do, ma’am? I’m Steve Rogers.”

She glanced up and looked him over impersonally. “What can I do for you, soldier?”

He stared back, flummoxed.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what she was supposed to say.

He wondered if she’d looked over his file. Had she seen the words marked down in his records? Had she seen him and decided she could do better? Had she deliberately chosen to speak different ones?

But did soulmarks even work that way? Could one choose to deliberately go against the laws of God and nature and avoid the fate set out for one?

And if so, did he even want a soulmate who was so opposed to the very idea of being tied to him? Someone who was so repulsed by the very idea of being tied to him that she'd gone out of her way to break the bond before it could even properly form?

No, he didn't want to think like that. She was perfect. He'd known it from the very moment he'd first laid eyes on her.

Nevertheless, something had clearly gone very wrong. Nothing he had ever seen or heard had implied that soulmarks could be contravened like that. Everyone was in agreement that soulmarks were indelible. Your mark was predestined and permanent and unavoidable except by means of premature death.

And yet…

He stumbled numbly over his words as he improvised a quick reply to her question. What was he to do now?


	6. Colonel Chester Phillips and Peggy Carter

Colonel Chester Phillips had written any number of these letters over the course of the war, but they never got any easier. Line after line expressing the army's sincere regret that they'd sucked in another young man and used him up with nothing left in the end but a bloody corpse. The war machine at its very best, drawing in and using up all of America's best and brightest.

He sighed and took a swig from his flask. It was after hours and there was no one to see him let his hair down a bit as he pondered the grim task ahead of him.

What a waste.

He'd never been a fan of the boy, but they'd come to a place of grudging admiration and respect as time went by. He'd been bright and loyal and brave and he'd gone the way of any number of other bright and loyal and brave men who made the mistake of signing up for war. And this one had practically been raring to get himself killed, the way he fought for his place among the soon-to-be-dying-and-dead.

Phillips shook his head bitterly.

Fuck it, this was his brain. He might as well be honest with himself if nothing else. He'd kind of liked the little bastard. He'd been a scrappy thing, forcing his way in like a ragged little terrier who refused to stay down when kicked aside. In any sane world, he'd never have had a chance at the front lines.

And sure, the science experiment had worked. He'd bulked up quite nicely. That didn't make him a soldier. He'd never learned discipline or obedience and had no idea how to function as part of a cohesive unit. Phillips had been glad to wash his hands of the whole song and dance and leave the so-called Captain to his career as a chorus girl.

And then the damn kid had somehow ended up running off in the middle of God-damned occupied Nazi to single handedly rescue his best friend from captivity and near-certain death. As if that wasn't bad enough for Phillips's heartrate, he'd gone and come back with an entire prison camp's worth of Allied soldiers that they'd picked up in the process.

The States couldn't exactly write off a hero like that, of course, so he'd ended up dropped in Phillips's lap without so much as a by your leave.

And now here they were. Down yet another young man who should've been anywhere but a battlefield, and Phillips was left writing yet another letter full of empty platitudes.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was getting too old for this mess, and no end in sight. Yet more lives wasted day in and day out and nothing to show for it.

He pulled out the so-called Captain's file to see who the lucky beneficiary of the empty letter and folded flag would be this time around.

A little paging through the papers and he found himself staring. Fuck. No need for a letter, then. She knew better than anyone that Rogers wasn't coming back.

He'd have to see about requisitioning a flag and rustle up his dress uniform, but that would wait until morning. Morbid as it was, the boy wasn't going to get any less dead for the wait.

 

\- line break -

 

The Howling Commandoes hadn't been having the best of weeks. Between the loss of their Sergeant and their Captain's heartbreaking self-sacrifice, the whole group was in a pretty rough state. They'd gotten roaring drunk the previous night, holding a bit of an unofficial wake in the absence of bodies to properly put to rest, but now that it was day time they were all suffering from a combination of grief and the lingering after effects of over indulgence in shitty alcohol.

They had come to a group consensus that they might as well ignore regulations and hang about the barracks working off the hangovers by means of a bit of the hair of the dog while using up their remaining rations of cigarettes over an ongoing poker marathon. The army had yet to sort out their orders in the aftermath of losing their two commanding officers, so the group was a bit at loose ends. They weren't exactly the shining example of the discipline that the armed forces strode to exemplify at the best of times, and as things stood now they certainly weren't motivated to try and put on any fancy airs.

DumDum Dugan was down to longjohns, boots, his signature hat, and a foul smelling stogie as Peggy Carter entered the room, and the group was loudly trying to convince him to bet something other than the longjohns on the next hand. He didn't seem particularly inclined to let go of the hat or the cheroot, though, and the Howleys had instituted a rule against betting your boots after an unfortunate incident several months back when baby-faced Steven Grant Rogers had conned the whole bunch out of every stitch of clothing and left them marching through enemy territory in nothing but their birthday suits for a day. He'd eventually relented more or less graciously and traded their clothes back in return for promises of a month's worth of cigarette and chocolate rations each, but they'd taken away a few important lessons from the whole experience.

They'd learned not to trust that angelic demeanor after that, but it had been roundly agreed that boots were off limits for future games. The lack of clothing hadn't been anywhere near as problematic as the loss of protection for their feet on marches through uncertain environments. It had only taken one foray into a field peppered with cow patties to swear off bare feet for a lifetime.

It was universally agreed, however, that the expression on the Nazi troops they'd come across that day when finding themselves faced by a highly aggravated group of nude soldiers bristling with firepower had more than made up for the indignity of the situation.

DumDum was starting in on an impassioned tirade as the approached the group. “I'll let go of my dignity before I let you heathens at my hat. Who knows what you'd do to it? This hat brings me luck, I'm not about to let you defile it.”

Morita scoffed at that statement. “So much luck you're down to your skivvies. Spare me that sort of fortune.”

Peggy cleared her throat to interrupt the argument and the men straightened up a bit in a pretense of attempting a facade of civility. “Gentlemen.”

“Ma'am,” DumDum doffed his hat politely and the men scooted over to create a space for her in case she wanted to join in. Peggy hesitated for a moment, but there was no need to hold herself apart from this group after all they'd been through together, so she settled down gracefully into the seat they'd offered up.

DumDum offered her a swig from his flask and she pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the mouth delicately before taking a generous swallow. “Thank you. I needed that. This has been a trying day.”

A chorus of general agreement met that pronouncement as Gabe Jones shuffled the deck and the group went back to attempting to swindle and cheat each other. She gradually relaxed into the air of general camaraderie as she proceeded to divest them of their rations and pocket change. This was a good group. She'd sorely miss them when they inevitably got split up and reassigned over the next several days.

She grabbed the flask back and raised it in a toast. “To Steve!”

There was a general chorus of “to Captain Rogers!” as DumDum followed it up with another toast to Barnes.

It wasn't long before they found themselves joined by Howard Stark, and with him came the welcome addition of some better quality alcohol. They were well on their way to another bout of inebriated grief when a noise at the door caught their attention. The group came to their feet in a ragged selection of half-hearted salutes as they found themselves faced with Colonel Phillips. The man looked uncharacteristically formal standing at attention in a dress uniform and carrying a folded flag. The Howlies watched in bemusement as he approached them stiffly, focusing in on Agent Carter.

“Excuse me, Agent. I'd like to formally present this to you on behalf of the United States Army in recognition of the loss of your soulmate. Captain Rogers fought bravely. Please accept this on behalf of the president of the United States.” He extended his arms, offering up the flag to the startled woman.

She stared at him blankly. “My what now?”


	7. Darcy, Jane, and Tony

“What's your Mom's deal with Tony Stark, anyway?” Jane asked bemusedly as they lugged another box onto the elevator for the trip up to their assigned lab space. “I mean, I know he was kind of a man whore back in the day, but he seems okay now. Wait – did she sleep with him? She went to MIT, didn't she? Were they there at the same time?” She sounded more intrigued and excited now at the prospect of juicy gossip.

Darcy groaned. “Jane. Janey-pants. Janey, my man. We do not talk about my mother's sex life. No way, no how. Not happening. And her beef with Tony is ancient history that's better swept under the rug and forgotten. It's just a thing. Mom hates Tony Stark with a deadly passion, the sky is blue, Thor's abs are a godly work of art. Don't question it. And for the love of Thor, don't make a big deal about it. I don't want another lecture about why I should keep my distance from anyone and anything associated with him.”

Jane paused and peered at her friend suspiciously, “...Darcy? Does your Mom know where you're working now?”

Silence.

Darcy shifted guiltily and avoided Jane's eyes, “I may have neglected to mention where in New York City we were relocating to.”

“Darcy.”

“Come on, Jane, it's not like we're going to meet the man himself! We're just... working in the Tower. Which he owns. And lives in. And personally invited us to.”

“And where he's graciously provided us with apartments, making us neighbors. Not to mention the fact that we're friends with one of his team mates.”

“Okay, sure, but he's Tony Stark. What's he going to want with a little old peon like me? I'm nothing and no one to him. No reason to make a big deal about it.”

“That thing that you're doing right now? That's what we call living in denial. You're just asking for trouble here, you know that, right? She's going to find out. And she's going to be pissed. No question about it. Whether or not you end up meeting him – and my money is on that happening sooner or later, let's be clear on that – lying about what we're doing here is just going to make things worse. You're better up 'fessing up up front and taking your blows like a man. Like a woman, even. Men are babies. They have no idea how to handle a bit of blood and pain.”

Darcy heaved a dramatic sigh. “Jane, my friend, it is always worth postponing the motherly lectures. The guilt will be never-ending. I might as well put the pain off until tomorrow. Or the next day. Next week, even, or next month. Maybe next year? Do you think I'll be able to keep it from her that long? I live in hope, but let's be real: my Mom has ways of ferreting things out. She's got a nose for my bullshit.”

Jane laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “That she does. On your head be it. I reserve the right to tell you I told you so when the day actually comes, though. Because I did. And I will hold no sympathy whatsoever, I swear. This is all on you.”

Darcy grinned as the doors slid open and she hefted up her end of the box. “Fair enough. I take full responsibility for the irresponsibility of my actions. In the mean time, we're at Stark Tower and I fully intend to live it up for as long as it lasts. Tequila shots tonight to celebrate, okay?”

A new voice chimed in from in front of them. “Tequila shots, you say? I'm in. I'll even bring the booze.”

Darcy froze as the two of them shifted their attention to the new addition to the conversation. Jane laughed out loud at Darcy's expression. “You know that thing two minutes ago where I said I'd tell you I told you so? Told you so.”

Tony Stark – The Tony Stark – was standing in front of the two of them, examining them in amusement. “Do I want to know?”

Jane shook her head. “Darcy just didn't think she'd end up meeting you.”

Tony blinked. “In my tower? The one where we all live now?”

She grinned. “I know, right? I'd offer to shake your hand, but-” she nodded toward the box she and Darcy were carrying, “they're a bit occupied at the moment. I'm Jane, by the way, and this is Darcy.”

Tony nodded. “Thor's bit on the side and her sidekick. Got it.”

Jane's hackles rose at being referred to that way, but Darcy managed to defuse things almost by accident. “Gonna be honest here. That was not what I expected you to say. At all.”

It was Jane's turn to glance at her friend in bemusement. “I thought you didn't expect to meet him?”

“Okay, you and I both know it was going to happen sooner or later. I was just banking on later and hoping for much later. Like never, even, although the chances of that were slim to none.”

Tony winced. “Okay, got to admit, that stings a bit. Most people talk to me for at least a minute before deciding they want nothing to do with me.”

Darcy glanced at Tony apologetically. “Nothing personal, really. My Mom just has a thing about you and I was hoping to allay the parental concern as long as possible. Not looking forward to her response to finding out I was anywhere near you.”

Tony nodded in understanding. “Ah, fair enough. Parents are a thing. I can't say that she's the first to have concerns about a daughter meeting me.”

Darcy's muttered “you have no idea” was ignored in favor of continuing the monologue.

“I swear, I'm a reformed man, though. Totally a one-woman kind of guy, and I'm sticking to women closer to my own age at that. No offense, but you're young enough to be my daughter.”

Darcy's laughter went on maybe a bit longer than the cliched phrase deserved and the other two shared a look of confusion.

Jane tentatively uttered an expression of concern. “Uh, Darce? You okay there?”

“Oh Janey, my Mom is going to LOVE this conversation. Just wait. She's going to get such a kick out of this.”

If anything, Jane looked even more concerned. “Your Mom? The lady who hates Tony Stark with a passion? I thought you were putting off telling her anything about this situation.”

“Yeah, no, that was before we met Tony. Trust me, she's going to be thrilled. Over the moon, even. This is going to make her day.”

Jane shared another look with Tony. He raised his eyebrow. “She's your friend. This make any more sense to you than to me?”

Jane shook her head. “None whatsoever, but you get used to it. Darcy's one of a kind.”

Tony nodded. “Got it. You know where you're going with that box?”

They took the hint and started moving. The box wasn't getting any lighter for the delay. “Yeah, we're halfway unloaded already. The lab's awesome, by the way. Thank you so much! This space is fantastic.” 

Tony grinned. “All in the name of science! We're all about that kind of thing around here. Let me know if you need anything – nothing but the best at Stark Industries, you know. We're all about pushing boundaries at every level.”

Darcy winked. "And you wonder why my Mom worries."

"Darcy!" Jane exclaimed, half-scandalized. She would probably have kicked or elbowed her, but it was difficult to do so when they were working together on carrying a large box down the hall, so she did the next best thing and ignored her, addressing Tony instead. “That'll take some getting used to. We're used to operating on a shoestring and duct tape budget. Lots of duct tape. Not much else.”

Tony winked back but followed Jane's lead. “Hey, no besmirching the good name of duct tape. That stuff is magic.”

Darcy snorted. “Sure, but sometimes it helps if there's a bit more to the machines than just that.”

“Hey there! No insulting the franken-machines!”

“Jane. Sweetie. Some of these things are holding on with nothing but a kiss and a prayer and you're standing in front of a billionaire who's offering to pay for upgrades. Live a little. Admit defeat. You don't have to replace the entire lab, but you might find it beneficial to at least pick up a couple of replacement parts for the worst of the bunch so we can fix them up properly.”

Tony hooked an arm over Jane's shoulder as they moved down the hall towards the lab. “Listen to the lady. She talks sense. She is clearly a woman of good taste and discernment.”

Jane raised a doubtful eyebrow. “Sure she is.”

Darcy interjected a startled, “hey!”

Tony moved to hold the door for them. “Here we are, then. As I said, let me know what you need. You'll get it. No strings attached.”

Jane nodded, “Thanks! No promises, but I'll keep it in mind.”

“You do that. And tequila shots tonight? Just let JARVIS know when you're settled in and ready. You've met JARVIS, right? Friendly neighborhood AI? He kind of runs things around here. Let him know what you're in the mood for as far as dinner goes, too. He'll pick something up. I'm past the days of booze on an empty stomach. Never ends well.”

“Deal. How's Thai sound?”

“Perfect. Thai it is! I'll just leave you to it. Good luck settling in!”

 

 


	8. Tony and his offspring

“Hey, J, think I could get in there?” Darcy eyed the door to Tony's lab speculatively. Loud beats vibrated through the space, an ominous foreshadowing of the cacophony awaiting inside.

 

There was a pause, then the door slid open to allow her entrance. “At your service, Miss Lewis.”

 

Darcy grinned impishly at the nearest camera. “Mind swapping the tunes while we're at it?”

 

There was an abrupt shift in tonal quality emanating from the labs followed by an audible yelp and a curse. Darcy sashayed inside with a distinctly smug air and went to greet the bots. Tony barely merited a distracted, “Hey, Tony.”

 

The man threw her a fond glare and shook his head at her. “Hey, kid. Plotting world domination via our robot overlords again?”

 

“You know it. I'm stealing your minions. Aren't you the best little minion ever, Dum-E? Tony doesn't appreciate what he's got in you. You're such a sweetie. He doesn't deserve you.”

 

Tony grumbled to himself with a mock glare at one of Jarvis's cameras. “Pretty sure they've already dethroned me and put you in charge. No respect. Don't know what we're teaching them these days.”

 

“Those young whippersnappers, always getting on your lawn?”

 

“Exactly.” Tony sniffed haughtily. “I should set the hose on them.”

 

“Well...” Darcy hummed thoughtfully, “...I don't know about a hose, but Dum-E's pretty good with that fire extinguisher of his. What do you say, Dum-E? Think you could protect Tony?”

 

Tony's eyes widened in alarm as he yelped, “No, don't-” but it was too late. The bot perked up in excitement and went rolling away at top speed at the mere mention of his fire extinguisher, and when Darcy added fuel to the flame by suggesting that he use it to protect Tony, the conclusion was foregone.

 

The furious mass of dripping foam glared witheringly at her. “This means war, you know.”

 

Darcy shrugged innocently. “Perhaps. But in the mean time, you're going to get a shower and get out of the lab for a bit. And J won't let you back in until you've eaten a meal and made your mark on those papers Pepper left here last week and asked you to return to her two days ago.”

 

Tony gawped at her, horror struck. “Et tu, J?”

 

“I'm sorry, sir, but Miss Lewis had a number of compelling arguments on her side. I was forced to concede the point.”

 

“Mutiny is a hanging offense, you know.”

 

“I look forward to discovering the innovations that will result from your attempts to hang an incorporeal being. It should prove most illuminating.”

 

Tony huffed. “I don't know where you get this sass from. I certainly didn't program it into you.”

 

“I'm sure I have no idea, sir.”

 

Darcy snorted. “Yeah, I'm sure rebellious drunk teenage Tony Stark only designed the most respectful and law abiding best friend for himself. Because those were definitely the traits he valued most.”

 

“You hear that, J? Slander! Under my own roof, even.”

 

Darcy moved to usher him out the door. “It doesn't have to be under your own roof. Look, we can move it out into the corridor. Out of the building, even. I could take you out in public and accuse you of such evils as loving your own kids. Think of the scandal!”

 

Tony choked. “Oh man, Lewis. That's one way to build a retirement nest egg. Every talk show in America would be dying to put you on air.”

 

Darcy froze uncharacteristically, looking revolted. “Oh ew. Gross. Yuck. No way. I need some brain bleach, pronto. I'm never getting that picture out of my head. So gross. J, do we have any of that tequila left?”

 

Tony looked half delighted and half insulted at her response. “Hey! I'm not that bad of a catch!”

 

Darcy shuddered. “This. This is why my mother wanted me nowhere near you. Don't even joke about that. So, so gross.”

 

Tony's expression faded into one of concern as she walked over to the bar area and Jarvis directed her to a bottle half hidden behind Clint's shitty beer, Steve's tasting assortment of weird hipster brews, and Natasha's odd collection of horrifying and kitsch bottles containing god only knew what. Darcy wasn't usually one to back away from banter like that. She always seemed to match him quip for quip. The fact that she seemed genuinely revolted at the turn of this conversation was ringing alarm bells of some sort. If only he could figure out what, though...

 

He tried to review the conversation. It wasn't really anything out of the ordinary. They'd verbally jousted over her plotting against him with Jarvis and the bots on more than one occasion, and once it had been clearly established that he was a one woman man and had zero actual interest in her, the occasional bit of habitual flirtation had garnered him nothing but an eye roll. What was different about this interaction?

 

Maybe it had something to do with the suggestion that she'd take the story to the press? It was a distasteful thought, sure, but he was Tony Stark. His youthful indiscretions had been making the papers since he was a teen. It wouldn't be anything much beyond the norm. He'd certainly weathered more than one pregnancy rumor over the-

 

Wait.

 

Hold on.

 

Back up.

 

He stared at her.

 

“Hey, Lewis?”

 

Darcy glanced up with a startled expression on her face. Tony didn't often use actual names for her. “Yeah?”

 

He was looking at her with an eerily intent focus. “What year were you born?”

 

She shifted warily. “...why do you ask?”

 

She could tell the moment the words came out of her mouth that they were the wrong response. He perked up like a terrier on a scent. “Throw up her file, will you, J?”

 

A series of holograms popped up all around him and he went digging through the data, muttering to himself. “Ha!” A bit of manipulating and a picture of five year old Darcy curled up in her mother's lap on the porch swing at her grandparents' home took front and center. “I knew that name sounded familiar!”

 

Darcy's expression shifted between a complex mix of guilt, resignation, and dread. Perhaps if Tony had been looking at her, he would've stemmed the avalanche of words spilling from his mouth for a moment in order to check in with her. Unfortunately, he was too engrossed in her file to catch that particular evolving minefield.

 

“I went to school with her. Lewis... Lewis... Liz! That was her name. And the dates match up, more or less. J, I need you to run the data on this, buddy. You know the drill.”

 

The door swung shut behind him, leaving him and Jarvis alone to their discovery.

 


	9. Darcy and Tony

Darcy didn't know what to do with herself. She wanted- Hell, what did she want?

 

To take back the past half an hour. Wind it back, undo it, scrap it, try again.

 

She wanted time. Time to figure out what she wanted.

 

She wasn't an idiot. She knew this day was coming. She'd chosen to come here with Jane, and it was a foregone conclusion the moment that she agreed to come to stay at Stark Tower – with Tony fucking Stark – that her secret would eventually have to come out. She'd made her peace with it.

 

Or at least she'd thought she had?

 

But she'd always figured the truth would come out on her own terms and now...

 

Well.

 

Too late now. It was out of her hands.

 

It couldn't be that awful, could it? The worst case scenario at this point was just so much lower stakes than the one that had haunted their first meeting. Sure, he could still reject her, but she was used to living without a Dad. What difference would it really make?

 

Except now she knew him.

 

And liked him.

 

And had been lying to his face the entire time they'd known each other.

 

She was so screwed. He was going to hate her. He was going to kick her out of the Tower. She'd have to leave him and leave Jane and move back in with Mom and she'd never see either her father or her best friend ever again.

 

...shit. Mom. She'd never even gotten around to explaining the whole deal with them living at Stark Tower to her Mom.

 

This was a disaster.

 

Okay, okay, it was totally all her own fault. She really should have known better. She should have talked to them. Both of them. Putting it off further and further had been playing with fire; it was inevitable that eventually she'd get burnt.

 

But what was she supposed to say? “Hey, Mom, so you know how you've been freaking out for twenty years about all the shit that could go down if I meet Tony? Well, don't worry, I ignored everything that we ever agreed on to try and keep me safe, but it's okay! It turns out he's not my soulmate after all, and everything's hunky-dory now. Isn't it great?”

 

Yeah, like that was going to go over well.

 

And Tony...

 

Wasn't that going to be a conversation.  
  


Fuck.

 

What if he hated her now?

 

Worse, what if he didn't?

 

Everything was going to change.

 

Was he going to try and be a father figure to her? She was in her twenties. She wasn't that little girl who used to spend hours staring at her mark and just wondering whether it would be so awful if her father really did love her. She didn't need a Dad, didn't even know if she wanted one in her life. What would she even do with one if she got one?

 

She bit back a groan.

 

This was all such a mess, and it was all her own fucking fault. She should have just stayed away like her Mom had always told her to. It would have been safer that way.

 

A clang behind her made her freeze. Shit. The whole point to coming up here was supposed to be that no one would think to look for her on the roof of a hundred story sky scraper. How had she completely failed to factor in Iron Man and JARVIS?

 

A slightly metallic voice reached her ears, quieter than expected. “Hey, kid.”

 

Her shoulders were so tense she was practically vibrating, and she found it hard to even glance in his general direction. “Hey, Tin Man.”

 

The armor unfolded and he stepped out, shivering a bit as he flopped down on the ground next to her as if he wasn't a multi-billionaire with a closet the size of a small apartment stuffed full of brand names.

 

He wasn't dressed for the wind out here. Hell, she wasn't dressed for the temperature, and she at least had a sweater on. Neither of them mentioned it, though, choosing instead to sit there in uncharacteristic silence.

 

It didn't take long for him to start fidgeting restlessly. “So.”

 

She echoed him back. “So.”

 

“I talked to Pepper.”

 

“I figured you might.”

 

“She seems to think we should use our words like actual grown ups and talk things out.”

 

“She would, wouldn't she.”

 

A long silence.

 

“This is awkward.”

 

A snort. “Yup.”

 

Another pause.

 

“How long have you known?”

 

She shrugged. “Since I was five or so, I guess? Something like that.”

 

“Wow. That long, huh?”

 

She didn't know what to make of his voice. “Yeah, well...” she hesitated, “Mom kind of felt she had to tell me after my mark came in.” She could practically feel his gaze on her, but she resolutely refused to look up.

 

“Your mark?” he prompted, “How does that factor into the picture?”

 

She debated a moment, then thought 'screw it' and pulled her sweater over her head and the neckline of the shirt below down farther than she'd ever dared in the company of anyone but immediate family. Although she supposed this was still in the company of immediate family, after all.

 

She caught his startled gaze and held it challengingly.

 

A moment.

 

Two.

 

“Dude, I'm not flashing you. It's safe to look.”

 

He winced and laughed awkwardly. “Right. Okay. I'm just... not used to this whole new category of woman it's creepy to look at.”

 

“Then you're really going to love this next bit.”

 

He looked down and his eyes widened. “Oh. That's... unexpected.”

 

“I know, right?”

 

“But how...?”

 

She shrugged. “Hell if I know, I guess we'll have to wait and see, just like everyone else.”

 

“Huh. Okay then, I guess we will.”

 

He grimaced and shifted uncomfortably. “So I guess I know why your Mom never said anything while you were growing up, but why didn't you? I thought we were getting along okay.”

 

Darcy winced. “It's... you're a good guy. I like you. And I've spent a couple of decades living with a Mom who had serious concerns about us ever meeting, because even if you didn't turn out to be some sort of creepy child molester type, your reputation as a womanizer is pretty damn set in stone. The hell that a mark like this could set me up for if the media ever caught on-” she sighed, “-Or the things they'd say about you, for that matter...”

 

She shook her head in frustration. “Look. I'll own it. I've got Daddy issues out the wazoo. I didn't want to drag you down with me. It's not like I ended up needing to get a foot in the door so we could meet or anything. If you like me on my own terms, why complicate things? I figured at least one of us should get to leave the baggage behind.”

 

He blew out a breath. “Okay, fair, but also kind of a dick move. As kind of the resident expert on Daddy issues, I can certainly sympathize, but the moment you stepped foot in my tower it kind of changed the game, don't you think? How did you think this was going to play out? You could have spoken up at any time, but you didn't. You lied to me – actively, and to my face. Withheld vital information. Left me – us – vulnerable to the exact dangers you've been afraid of all your life, but didn't bother to give me any sort of a heads up. Where does that leave us now?”

 

Darcy scrubbed a hand over her face as his words sank in. That- Shit. Those were fair points. “I- Yeah. That really was a dick move, wasn't it? I didn't even think... I've been completely self-centered about this whole thing. I wasn't even thinking about the situation I was putting you in. I'm sorry. That wasn't fair to you. I should've said something.”

 

He ran his own hand over his face in a move that echoed her own. “Yeah, you should've. I would've liked to have known. Would've liked to have heard it from you first. Hell, you're my kid! I don't even know what to do with a kid, and I've got one now.”

 

Shrug. “Do you... have to do anything? Can't we go on like we have been? We've been doing okay, haven't we?”

 

“Yeah, no. That's not going to happen. You're my kid. That changes things. I don't know how, exactly – still new to this whole business – but it definitely does. If I'm going to be a father, I'm going to do my damned to do it right. We're not just going to pretend this never happened and try to awkwardly coexist. I want to get to know you better, see how this plays out in the long run. I want to be part of your life.”

 

“Okay, yeah, sure. We can try that.” She pulled her sweater back on and settled in against him, feeling a bit more relaxed. It was still awkward, and it probably would be for a while, but it was a start.

 

He hummed thoughtfully. “We should probably invite your Mom up here at some point so we can figure out where we can go with this from here.”

 

She winced. “That's going to be a fun conversation.”

 

“You ever tell her where you're living and working?”

 

“I plead the fifth.”

 

He barked a laugh. “You like to live dangerously, don't you, kid?”

 

She grinned wryly. “I'm the queen of procrastination. Bites me in the ass more often than I'd like, but what can you do?”

 

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in for a side hug. “You'll be alright. You have a tower full of superheroes to protect you.”

 

She snorted. “My mother will make mincemeat out of them.”

 

He grinned back fondly. “Yeah, she probably will. Strong woman, your mother. I always did respect her.”

 

That seemed to please her, if the smile was anything to go by.

 

“Come on kid, let's go back inside. It's cold out.”

 

“Okay, Tony.”

 

They headed back in. There was another awkward moment once through the door as they tried to figure out whether to stick together or go their own ways.

 

“Hey Tony?”

 

“Yeah, kid?”

 

“Thanks for coming after me.”

 

She gave him a quick hug and headed off to find Jane.

 

“Any time, kid. Seriously. Any time.”

 

He watched her walk away before turning to hunt down Pepper again. This was going to be interesting.

 


	10. The big reveal

The costumes were outlandish, but the music wasn't as loud as Steve would have expected from a Stark shindig. The band was live, of course, and the musicians were placed so they could be heard from any corner of the room, but they were playing something jazzy and instrumental that Steve could actually see people dancing to – and not the kind of dancing that amounted to plastering yourself against a stranger and hoping the thin barriers of clothing and social pretense would suffice to disguise the blatant disregard of public decency laws, either. (And boy if Steve didn't feel like someone's crotchety grandfather when he heard himself thinking those thoughts...) Actual dancing of the sort Buck would have loved.

 

He felt a wry smile twist his mouth as he scratched at the itchy growth on his chin. If he was honest with himself, Bucky would have loved the other sort, too. He'd never had Steve's hang ups about dancing either above or below the sheets.

 

If Bucky were here...

 

Well.

 

He'd certainly be setting Steve straight about standing here in the corner moaning and groaning. He'd probably show up, a dame on either arm, to lure Steve out of his shell and drag him onto the dance floor with them.

 

Not that Steve needed someone else to find him a willing partner these days. He could feel the assessing gazes all around him, diametric opposites of the ones he grew up surrounded by and yet surprisingly similar in the effect they had on him.

 

Neither one much inspired a desire to dance.

 

Time to move away from the swirling dancers and try to find someone he knew.

 

He felt a stab of longing for the fellows he'd lost who'd seen him for the person he was rather than the space he took up. His ma, Bucky, Bucky's folks, the Commandoes, Peggy...

 

It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't seeing things when he spotted the dame. She could've walked straight out of the 40's and into his arms and he wouldn't have blinked an eye.

 

Well.

 

At the outfit at least. He might've been a tad startled to find himself with an armful of lady. But what a lady she was. Curves and curls and a kiss of bright red at the lips designed to inspire delectably naughty urges. And what lips they were--

 

Steve flushed at the direction his thoughts were taking as her eyes met his and a smile crossed her lips. He found himself approaching her before he had time to think better of it.

 

Before he could think to introduce himself, her companion turned and laughed. “Well, aren't you a sight? Stark will certainly be flattered.”

 

She kissed him on the cheek and he laughed as he realized that she, too, had chosen to show up dressed as Tony Stark. She certainly pulled it off better than he did, though. The beard suited her surprisingly well, and that suit fitted her a treat. “Natasha! You look lovely. How's the night treating you?”

 

“Well enough. This is remarkably tame for a Stark affair, but the night's still young. Although I suppose he might be toning it down some, all things considered...” She eyed the lady next to her in a thoughtful sort of way that left more questions than answers.

 

The woman in question snorted. “I guess we'll see, won't we? Not that it'll stop the fireworks once my Mom shows up, of course.”

 

The impish smile on Natasha's face left a healthy chill of fear tracing its way down Steve's spine. Nothing good could come of that expression.

 

“Steve, have you met Darcy? She's Jane Foster's intern, they just moved in not too long ago.” Natasha gestured back and forth between the two of them, gracefully transitioning into introductions and allaying any attempts to inquire further in one fell swoop.

 

Steve affably allowed himself to be maneuvered and gave Darcy an exaggerated once over and a whistle, doing his best to plaster a rogueish grin on his face. He'd practiced a handful of lines to help get him through introductions for the night, so that part came relatively smoothly. One of the side benefits of playing Tony Stark was that he could just let the role of Tony Stark take over without having to worry about what Steve Rogers might have to say in a given interaction. “Hello, gorgeous. Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and winner of Witch Weekly's most charming smile award five years in a row.”

 

Darcy's eyes widened as she glanced back and forth between him and Natasha, settling into glaring at the latter with murder in her eyes. Steve wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, but he'd clearly misstepped somehow. He tried to formulate a quick apology, but her gritted response forestalled any attempts at fixing whatever gaffe he'd made. “Peggy Carter. But I'm sure you knew that already.”

 

Steve choked on his apology as he stared at her. “Wait. What?”

 

Her eyes whipped back to him at the startled squawk and she eyed him quizzically. Whatever she saw there must have given her pause because the attention she'd been leveling at Natasha now rested solely on him. Her glare melted into a look of shock that must mirror his own. “Hold on. Are you for real?”

 

“Did you just-”

 

“Did I-” A look of dawning horror graced her face. “I introduced myself as Peggy Carter. I told you my name is Peggy Carter. Your soul mark says that your soul mate is Peggy Carter because I am an idiot. You thought you lost any chance at having a soul mate and you mourned for years and it's all my fault. And you- Shit. We thought my soulmate was going to be Tony Stark for decades and it's all because Tony fucking Stark thought it would be hilarious to host a celebrity costume party and call it the Tonys. It's all his fault after all! This is a disaster. I'm a disaster. We're a disaster. You're a disaster. I can't believe Tony... Why can't I stop talking? Oh my god. Your mark says that I'm Peggy Carter and-- Steve fucking Rogers turned my body into a permanent shrine to Harry Potter and Tony Stark. What even is my life? Wait... Steve Rogers is my soulmate? Captain America is my soulmate and he just hit on me while wearing a Tony Stark beard. Tony is going to have a spare.”

 

Steve could listen to this lady – his soulmate – babble for the rest of his lifetime, no matter the span it might last. She was beyond perfect, and he couldn't wait until the day he'd be allowed to kiss her silly. He slowly lowered himself into a seat as he took in her chatter with a dazed yet reverent air, doing his best to memorize every single word for posterity's sake.

 

Natasha, being the experienced spy that she was, used exactly none of the skills she'd picked up on the job over a lifetime of honing her subtle mastery of emotional control. She was laughing so hard she was wheezing, and it didn't take long before everyone around them had shifted their attention to the trio.

 

Tony was swift to find his way over and try to eavesdrop on the conversation, as was most of the rest of the nosy team. Only Bruce seemed to have opted for a course of discretion. Steve thanked God for Bruce. At least there was one other nominal adult in the bunch. “What? What? What happened? Why are you laughing like that? What on Earth-”

 

Natasha's laughter did not make it any easier to make out her words, but somewhere between her gasped, “you - he – she – they – I can't breathe! - Peggy Carter!” and Darcy's babble, something must have sunk in eventually.

 

Tony turned to look at Steve with wide eyes, pointing back and forth between him and Darcy. “Wait. You two?”

 

Steve nodded dazedly. “Yup.”

 

“Soulmates?”

 

He grinned helplessly. “Looks like.”

 

Tony's face morphed into a meld of shock and rage. “YOU! It's YOUR fault!” He wound back with an incoherent snarl and punched Steve smack in the nose, taking him so completely off balance that he actually succeeded in knocking him on his ass. The two of them blinked in equal startlement as Tony further processed the information. “Wait, does that mean- Were you flirting with her? Did you just dress up as me and hit on my daughter under my own roof at my own party? Did- Hold on, hold on... Captain America, the apple of my father's eye, his pride and joy beyond all others... was the one to besmirch my honor while pretending to be me. AND DID YOU JUST COMPARE ME TO GILDEROY LOCKHART? This is some mind fuckery. I can't even-”

 

Wait.

 

Daughter?

 

Steve glanced back and forth between the two babbling brunettes and couldn't help but spot the similarities. Before long, he found himself joining Natasha in her helpless hysterics.

 

Just to think, ten minutes ago, they'd thought this all a dull affair.

 

They should've known better. Nothing was ever dull when a Stark was around.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! A bit over five months and over 15,000 words later, my longest and most popular fic to date! I want to thank everyone who's been so encouraging all throughout this process. Without all of your comments and support, this might never have come into fruition. This has been an amazing ride, and I really hope that the final reveal lived up to everyone's hopes and expectations.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, back by popular demand - the epilogue, featuring Liz Lewis. 
> 
> I'm also counting this towards my Darcy Stark square on the Marvel Bingo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of people have expressed concerns about how controlling Darcy's mother is in this, so if that's a trigger for you, please be aware of that fact.

The night was over. The party guests had gone their merry way. The staff had been dismissed for the night. All that was left was the debris scattered around the event space for the housekeeping staff to clear up in the morning, a smattering of leftover hors d’oeuvres and alcohol, and an exhausted collection of superheroes and associates.

The group was slumped on various couches and armchairs, high heels off and various costume accessories thrown to the wayside in the name of comfort. A couple of them nursed drinks. Several of them had their eyes closed. They were the picture of exhaustion.

With one exception.

“So,” Liz Lewis had the elegant poise of a queen. She was sitting upright, gazing sternly down at her errant daughter and the man beside her. “I hear you’ve been somewhat less than forthcoming about your recent adventures.”

Darcy squirmed. “Okay, but come on, Mom. You’ve got to admit. If I’d said anything about us working with Stark Industries, you would’ve thrown a gasket. Not to mention the whole bit with moving into the Tower. You would have gone on and on and on about how that would put me in Tony’s path and do I really want to risk the publicity and harassment that accompanies fame and fortune and have I thought about the potential consequences of my choices and it really is your choice, Darcy. It’s your life. I’m not going to dictate to you when you’re ready to take that step. He’s not a bad man and I’m sure he loves you very much and will do his utmost to take care of you, but there are risks and dangers that walk hand in hand with the lifestyle he leads and I want you to be absolutely certain you’re okay with taking them on. Do you know how many times Tony Stark was kidnapped by the time he was your age? You don’t have to take my word for it. It’s a matter of public record. Go look it up if you don’t believe me. And his father was only a rich industrialist. Now that Tony’s taken on the role of a superhero, there are going to be all sorts of bad eggs crawling out of the woodworks. I worry about you, sweetheart. I don’t want you to get hurt, and whether you come out as his daughter or as his soulmate or both, you’re going to be courting all sorts of risks. You’re my baby girl. It’s my job to protect you, and I’ve put a lot of work into that over the years. Don’t let that sacrifice go in vain. Blah blah blah.”

Liz raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Sounds like you got the lecture whether or not I was in the room.”

Darcy sighed explosively and flopped back in a dramatic move. “Ugh!”

Liz laughed lightly. “I hope you know you’re grounded. No phone, no iPod, and no social media for a week.”

Darcy sat back up. “Excuse me?” she asked in outrage.

The eyebrow went back up. “You want to test me? I could make it a month, but I’m not about to enable you in your life choices in regards to keeping me out of the loop on what’s going on in your life.”

“I’m a grown woman. I have a college degree. I have a job. I don’t live under your roof and you don’t pay my bills. You don’t get to come in here and dictate-”

“And I’m your mother. Deal with it. Tony, you’ll have your creepy all-seeing eye in the sky enforce those limits.” It wasn’t a question. Liz expected to be obeyed.

Tony’s eyes shot back and forth between the Lewis women and caught on Pepper in a desperate bid for help. She sat back in amusement, taking herself out of the equation. His eyes shot back to mother and daughter. “Uh- I don’t. I’d rather not get involved,” he fumbled. “I think this is between the two of you?” His voice sounded far less polished and confident than was the norm for The Tony Stark (tm).

Liz crossed her legs very deliberately, her eyes never leaving his.

His gaze followed the movement and he gulped. That was all it took. He cracked. “Okay, sure. Fine. Jarvis, the kid is on restriction. Make it happen.”

“Very well, Sir,” the AI chimed in, amusement clear in his voice.

Darcy huffed in exasperation. “This is ridiculous! I can’t believe you’re grounding me. I’m not a teenager anymore.”

“Then stop acting like one,” Liz retorted. That settled, Liz turned to Steve, who’d been doing his very best imitation of a statue in an attempt to evade her eagle eyed gaze. She looked him up and down, an amused glint in her eye. “And you’re the soulmate?”

Steve’s pose went from exhausted slump to military attention in a heartbeat. “Yes, ma’am.”

There was a touch of amusement in her tone as she addressed him. “Can’t say I ever expected to meet two men that share that name in my life. It’s good to meet you, Tony.”

Steve flushed. “It’s actually Steve. Steve Rogers. The Tony thing was just a big mix up.”

Liz laughed. “Oh no, it’s too late for that. Your name’s been down as Tony for decades now. You get to live with the consequences. You might be able to talk me down to Junior since you’ll be the other Tony’s son in law eventually, but you’ll always be Tony to me.”

Darcy’s groan got even louder and more dramatic. Several tired chuckles could be heard around the room. Steve honest to god squirmed. Her work here was done.

“Alright,” she pronounced. “It’s been a long night, full of surprising revelations. It’s clear you’re all wiped. Why don’t we all go to bed? We can sort everything else out in the morning.”

People started shifting around and gathering their things now that the show was over. Tony shuffled over to Liz. “I, uh- I can arrange some rooms for you? It’ll take a couple of days to set up an apartment, but-”

Liz shook her head. “Thank you, but no. I’ll be fine. I’ll bunk with Darcy. It’s clear she needs the supervision anyway. The things that girl gets up to in my absence-!”

Someone nearby muttered the phrase, “Like father, like daughter,” but neither of them turned around to see who it was.

Tony looked like he was about to protest, but Pepper swooped in. “It was very nice to meet you, Ms Lewis. We should have brunch. I suspect the two of us might benefit from an exchange of tips and tricks in regards to managing Starks.”

Liz beamed. “I’d love that. Let’s make it happen. Say, eleven o’clock? That should be late enough so you can get a good night’s sleep and recover from this whole debacle.”

The two ladies shook on it and Pepper took Tony by the arm, leading him off. The rest of the Avengers had departed as well, leaving Liz alone with Steve and Darcy. She looked the two of them over. “Alright, Junior. Off to bed now. Your own bed, mind you. I’m not ready for grandbabies. Say good night to Darcy and we’ll see you in the morning.”

Steve flushed again and nodded, twitching as if he was about to salute. He really didn’t seem to know how to act around her, and she fully intended to milk that for all it was worth. “Uh- Yes ma’am. I mean, no ma’am. I mean, I wouldn’t presume-” He faltered for a moment and then gathered his wits. “Good night, Darcy. Good night, Ms Lewis. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Liz pretended she didn’t see him mouth the words Good Luck! to her daughter as he gingerly edged around her and fled the room.

Darcy groaned again, but Liz was used to her dramatics and paid her no mind. “He’ll do.”

Darcy perked up at that. It was nice to still she still wanted her mother’s approval in her old age. It soothed her ruffled feathers a bit to know that her daughter still cared about her opinions, even if she did choose to conceal major life events in a futile attempt to evade motherly lectures. “You think so?”

Liz nodded. “Stick with me, kid. We’ll train him up right.”

Darcy grinned. “I love you, Mom. You know that, right?”

Liz wrapped an arm around her daughter in a one armed hug as they moved toward the elevator. “I love you too, kiddo. Even if you do make stupid decisions sometimes.”

The echoes of Darcy’s groan and Liz’s laughter echoed through the elevator shaft as they moved off towards bed. In the end, all was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later on, Darcy to Steve: "Just be glad she didn't start calling you Gilderoy. With the blond hair, blue eyes, and sparkling smile you would've been a shoo-in for the role."


End file.
